


from neath dark waters

by SparkleMoose



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Moose's Galahdian Lore Continues To Be a Thing, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27912505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkleMoose/pseuds/SparkleMoose
Summary: Serah was an outcast, a street rat, thrown out like a dirty rag and forced to wander the streets to beg and steal for her next meal.Serah is dying, but it's then she finds hope.(Or that Clarus adopts a the reincarnated WoL fic no one wanted but you're getting anyway.)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56





	1. echo through time

_“Hey Noctis?” Serah turns slightly to look at the Prince, her eyes brilliant and blue in the light of the sun. “You know if you ever need me, you only need to call, right?”_

_Noctis looks at her. His brow furrowed with the weight of what Serah means by those words resting on his shoulders. “Yeah,” he says at last, “I know.”_

* * *

Heroes die. It is a fact every story must come to terms with; when the adventure is over and the evil is defeated the hero dies. Years or a day after it matters not, even the happiest ending ends with death.

Heroes die, and Serah cannot help but look at the lighting scars covering her right hand knowing it ascends from her hips and splayed across her back and wonder who - what - she was in her past life. It comes to her in snippets, in dreams, in echoes of something that would have been better off forgotten. The life she had lived, the death she had died, they all come to her in bits and pieces.

She cannot help but wonder what happened to shatter her memory so.

Most Twice-born, Serah knows, are not born with their markings. Nor do they grow up with pieces of those memories sliding together and fitting neatly as pieces of a puzzle. They get their memories later in life, their markings come with the arrival of their memories. They do not have to worry about growing up wondering if what they saw was a dream or a memory.

Serah knows this, and cannot help but wonder why she’s different.

* * *

She’s hungry.

She’s always been hungry. Serah wakes in the morning before people fill the streets of Insomnia hungry and she goes to bed at night starving. She cannot remember the last time she’s had a meal, a proper one.

She thinks that she’s never had one.

A voice in her head, mocking and infuriating taunts her.

How sad, for a hero to die of starvation.

Serah has never wanted to prove someone more wrong than she has now. She steps out of the alley she calls a home and she opens her mouth.

_“I close my eyes, tell us why must we suffer...”_

And she sings. She can’t tell you where the song came from, why she had thought today would be the day to come out of her alley and open her mouth to sing, to use the song and plea with the crowd gathering for her life.

Serah knows what she looks like, her hair dirty and dull, the red of it looking brown with muck. Her blue eyes with deep bags under it, showing exhaustion and a rough life and yet-

And yet she sings. She sings for what she once was, she sings for the future she could have if she only dares to take it. Serah sings, and when she is done the crown has more than tripled.

A part of her wants to run, wants to gather the coins and bills at her feet as quickly as she can and leave. She wants to disappear but-

She can’t. Whoever Serah once was, the woman she was before was brave.

Serah wants to be brave now too.

She bows to the crowd, perfect and precise, a move that is ingrained into her like the memories of who she had been. Serah bows and a man steps forward.

As she rises Serah can see the man’s brown hair is streaked with white, he’s dressed in the uniform of the Crownsguard and Serah meets his gold brown eyes with her tired blue ones.

He softens, barely noticeable but Serah has spent her life learning how to read people. It is the moment he softens that Serah winces, a migraine pounding between her ears and all she can think before she’s dragged to the past is-

_I hope he liked the song._

* * *

_A man stands beside the King. King Regis Serah can recognize even years younger as he appears now. The man beside the king, the Crownsguard that had trigger this unwanted trip to the past, is dressed formally, in robes that Serah personally thinks would be a pain to fight in._

_Regis turns to the Crownsguard, a smile on his face._

_“Clarus,” Regis says to the man, “I am ever grateful to have you by my side and yet- after this is done- there is something I must tell you.” The smile falls from Regis’ face and the air turns serious. “It concerns my son.”_

_Clarus raises a brow._

_“Regis,” Clarus’ voice is sharp, “What’s going on?”_

_The scene breaks._

_The only thing Serah hears before she wakes up is:_

_“Noctis is Chosen.”_

* * *

Serah is warm. That is the first thing that occurs to her upon waking. That she is warm and curled up on her side on something soft and comfortable.

A bed, she thinks, and opens her eyes just enough to get a feel for where she is. The first thing she sees is white walls with brown wood trim. On them are pictures of landscapes, of various places that look almost familiar but not quite. In front of her is a door, and Serah wonders if there’s anyone guarding it. She feels as though she could be being watched, being assessed on what she is capable of but she’s twelve.

She’s twelve and she’s warm. The comforter on top of her makes her want to bury her face into it and never let go.

It makes her want to go back to sleep.

But she’s twelve, and a street rat, and even in the communities she runs with there are still those with less than savoury intentions. Serah forces herself to give of the delightful comforter, the soft pillows and lush mattress and forces herself to her feet.

And she promptly falls down.

A loud curse breaks the silence of the room as she lands on her knees, a sharp ache ringing in her kneecaps and making her wince even as she forces herself back to her feet. The door opens as Serah leans on the wall next to the bed to help her stabilize before she tries to walk again.

Serah blinks at the woman standing at the door, and feels a slight trickle of envy at how well kept the lady’s hair is. Her black locks sit in a bun atop her head, her heart shaped face with thin lips and brows stares at Serah as though she’s torn between being amused and displeased.

She’s pretty, Serah thinks, looking at their green eyes.

“Are you going to kill me?” Are the first words out of Serah’s mouth regardless. She hates the despaired shock that overcomes the lady then, hates how her mouth opens and how her eyebrows raise as though she’s horrified that Serah could even think of such a thing.

“I mean-“ Serah continues, her thoughts spilling out without a filter to stop them. “-Why else would I be here? Oh, I suppose I could be here for other reasons, but I’d rather die than do anything like that and I’m very stubborn so it’d be best for everyone if you killed me now rather than make me find a way to do it myself.”

“Enough.” The woman in front of Serah looks a step away from murdering someone in that instant and Serah hopes it isn’t her. “I’m not- we’re not going to kill you. And we certainly don’t engage in such horrible things.”

Serah tilts her head to the side and scrunches up her nose.

“Makes sense,” Serah decides, “I don’t think I’d be worth much anyway.” I’m close to death, goes unsaid but the woman seems to hear it anyway.

“Let’s start this again,” the woman says with a deep sorrow about her, “I’m Celia Amicitia, and you are?”

“Serah,” Serah offers, “I don’t have a last name.”

* * *

Celia loves her husband. Loves Clarus more than words can say. She loves him for his daring and for his bravery. Celia loves Clarus for all his flaws and faults and yet she will admit to doubting him when he showed up two hours after he had left for work back at the manor with a child in his arms. It is not that Celia did not feel her heart ache for the dirty and thin thing that her husband brought home, it is that she has a duty to her home and country to be guarded against all things that could mean harm to the throne or those she holds dear.

Celia loves her husband, which is why she orders her maids and servants to grab a set of her own old clothing and run a bath for the child. She assumes that her husband has already called a medic, and is proven right when a Crownsguard approved doctor shows up at their house.

The child, as it turns out, should be much worse off than she is. The prognosis from the doctor telling Celia that the child should not be able to walk, that she should, by all rights, be dead.

Something in Celia’s heart aches loud and fierce at that. She shares a look with Clarus before he heads back out and knows they’ve come to the same conclusion.

If the child allows it-

If the child allows it they will keep her.

Serah, the child, is staring at Celia. The bags under the girls eyes dark and haunted and doing nothing to ease the suspicion in her eyes.

Celia’s heart aches again, wondering what could cause a child to look so scarred and not liking the answer.

* * *

Serah is thirsty.

She has not touched the water the woman has gotten her. Serah will not touch it, something from a life she does not fully remember tugging at the back of her mind, telling her not to trust anything that someone else has poured for her.

Instead she eyes the woman across from her. Fiddling with the hem of the clean, warm shirt that Serah had been dressed in while unconscious Serah can’t help but bite the bottom of her lip as she glances up at the woman again.

There is something warm about Celia’s presence, something light and warm like the sunlight dappled woods Serah swears she knows despite never having been out of Insomnia. There is something that tells Serah that she can trust Celia but there is a warning in her gut, telling her not to trust completely. Telling to be wary of everything, and she knows that it right. Serah has been dealing with gangs and their leaders for far longer than she’d like to, and this feeling, this feeling of warning is what has kept her alive for so long.

Celia sighs, threading her fingers together on the table that separates them.

“Serah,” Celia says, her voice gentle, “Where are your parents?”

Serah shrugs.

“They left.” Serah’s answer is short and blunt even as the girls hand twitches, as though she’s reaching for something that isn’t there.

“Do you have any other family?”

Serah blinks. Her eyes wide at the question.

“I don’t-“ Serah stops. “-I don’t know.”

“We could try to find them for you,” Celia offers, “Find you a home.”

Serah thinks of the scars spreading across her back and shoulders. There is no doubt that the person who changed her has seen the scars but Serah can’t help but wonder if they knew exactly what those scars meant.

“I don’t think.” Serah’s words are careful. “That they would want me.”

“And why is that?” There is no malice in Celia’s voice, just curiosity.

“I’m-“ Cursed, she wants to say, cursed and forsaken and an odd child and no one who knows what those scars mean would ever want a child like me, “-Different.”

Celia eyes her and for a brief second at Serah’s words her eyes flash with anger.

“Everyone is different,” Celia tells her, “Those who judge others for being different are no more than cowards.”

Serah can’t answer that, so she doesn’t.

Celia sighs. “I can’t let you go back out onto the streets,” she tells Serah, “You’re a child, you deserve better.”

“And what of the others?” Serah’s voice is bitter. “What of the other children like me? Homeless, starving? Don’t they deserve better too?”

“Of course they do,” Celia says.

“Then why don’t you help them?”

Celia is silent.

Serah pushes herself off the chair she had been sitting on and stands.

“I’m taking the clothes,” she tells Celia, “And I’m leaving whether or not you give me back my shoes.” They were good shoes, still solid enough that she didn’t have to worry about her foot breaking through the soles just yet.

She ignores the sharp pang of hunger that aches and lingers in her belly.

“I can’t let you leave, you’re a child.”

Serah looks at Celia and can feel a heavy presence at the entryway to the house.

“You’re not going to have a choice,” Serah informs her, “I’m both smaller and faster than you and I’ve a lifetime of running away from people on my side. I am going to leave.” The last part is said louder, loud enough to inform the presence at the door that she is going to leave and that nothing they can do can stop her.

The presence pauses and Serah makes her way to the door and opens it to find the large man - The Crownsguard that had watched her sing - standing there with the king by his side.

“Hello,” Serah says, “I’m leaving now.”

“Without shoes?” The King asks, an unreadable look in his eyes.

Serah shrugs. “I’ve gone without shoes before,” she tells him and steps to the side as they enter the house. “Now goodbye.”

She takes a step outside despite the protests of the adults that remain inside the house, and Serah falls as she puts weight on her leg again.

“Fuck,” Serah hisses as pain shots up her leg from where she slammed her knee into the ground when she fell.

Then the Crownsguard is there, a look in his eyes that screams at Serah that he’s concerned for her, and helps her to his feet.

“Does this happen often?” The Crownsguard asks, expression almost soft as he looks at her.

“No,” Serah lies and tugs her elbow out of his grasp. It has been happening more often, has been happening often enough that Serah knows she’s going to die, that she’s dying already. Starvation makes her small and frail and exhausted. Walking is difficult, even now, but she knows that she has to keep going, that she has to get away from these people before she’s left alone again.

“You shouldn’t lie,” The King says, and Serah scowls at him.

“Why not?” she asks, crossing her arms and staring up at him in a way that has unnerved many people before him, “After all, it’s the only way to survive.”

* * *

Clarus would not say that he is soft. He cannot say that anymore, not after having shed blood and tears for the Crown, not after pledging himself to stand by his King’s side forevermore.

Clarus cannot say that he’s soft, but there had been a child who could not have been older than Noctis singing in the street. Even as her body trembled and shook with each note her voice had remained strong and vibrant and Clarus looked at her and saw what he and Regis had failed to do for the poverty stricken in their city. Clarus looked at the child and felt something in his heart ache at the fact that she was left alone. Then rage came when she had fallen, rage and despair at the fact that this girl was dying on the streets of his city.

He had taken her, taken her and brought her home and Celia had been cautious and then Clarus had seen sorrow in his wife’s gaze as she ordered the maids to draw a bath and get a set of old clothes. They had a discussion after the doctor left, and Celia had told him in no uncertain terms that if he let any harm before the girl in the room upstairs she would take their children and leave. Clarus could not fault his wife for that, he himself would not be able to live with himself if he let a child die when he could prevent it.

Clarus cannot say he is soft, but children have always found a way through the armor around his heart and there is a girl staring at him with too wide eyes looking defensive and ready to bolt as she scowls at him. There is a girl in front of him that he could save if she let him, and it’s that thought that brings on the unwanted conclusion that she could not want to be saved.

“Serah,” Celia calls and the girls eyes dart back to the entry way where Regis is standing, “Can you come back in?”

Serah’s eyes narrow as she regards the three adults around her. “Why?”

“Serah,” Clarus says, “We want to help you.”

“In return for what?” Serah asks, as though she’s already debating the merits of trying to run.

“We require nothing of you, Serah,” Regis tells her, voice soft but stern, “Merely that you be yourself.”

* * *

“You’re lying,” Serah tells the adults that have somehow ushered her back into the house. It’s warm in the house, a stark contrast to the chill outside and Serah sees a plush looking throw over a chair in the living room they usher her into and she debates the merits of taking it with her when she lives.

These people are royalty and nobility after all, they can afford to lose a few things.

The adults in the room almost look pained at her accusation as all of them sit on the furniture and Serah remains standing. She does not want to trust these people, she does not want their pity or rage at what she has been through. Serah is certain she’s strong enough to go through what little life she has left by herself.

She can’t help but think it would be better with a family, but as quickly as that thought comes she silences it.

“We’re not lying,” Celia, the woman Serah still isn’t sure about, says, “We want to help you. You deserve a home, Serah. You deserve a family.”

“Why?” The question is obvious, the answer even more so. “Once they see what’s on my back they won’t want me anymore.”

The air in the room is tense, and Serah’s hand itches for a blade or a deck of cards and she isn’t sure why she would want a deck of cards and figures it must be another echo of who she was.

“Serah,” the man, Regis says, “What’s on your back?”

“A curse,” Serah offers, “Or a blessing. It depends really.” Without prompting Serah turns her back to them and lifts up the shirt she was given to show the brilliant blue lightning strikes marring her skin. They span the entire length and width of her back and Serah has had them since she was born. She knows these people will kick her out when they see the markings, no one wants something like her in their house.

There’s a sharp intake of breath from all three of the adults and then Serah lets the shirt fall back down. She turns to them, crossing her arms over her chest and looking away. There is a fragment of hope in her chest, bright and beautiful and she should know better, should know better than to trust the warmth of it but the adults in the room look at her with sympathy instead of fear and Serah wants to be warm again, for however long she has left, she wants to be warm.

“I’m Twice-born,” she tells the adults, “We don’t generally get our scars until later in life, and they don’t have color either.” A wry smile crosses her lips. “I guess I’m just unlucky.”

“You remember your past life,” Celia says. Serah nods.

“Yes, that’s why my parents threw me out,” she says it casually, as though Serah herself was merely something to be thrown away. “I can’t blame them, I wouldn’t want to deal with me either. Besides, I don’t remember a lot. It comes to me in fragments mostly.”

“I thought the Twice-born were a myth,” Regis remarks carefully.

“We’re not,” Serah says, “We’re just rare. Those with color are unheard of, no one knew what to make of me so they threw me out.”

“I see.”

Serah nods again. “Now that that’s over,” Serah says, “I’m going to leave.”

“No,” The Crownsguard says, “You’re not. We’re not going to throw you out.”

“No family will want me,” Serah tells them like they’re being stupid.

“We do,” Celia says, “We do.”

Something warm pricks the back of Serah’s eyes and she squeezes them shut.

“Don’t lie,” she isn’t sure if she’s begging or not but if she dies of hope then at least she died warm.

* * *

_It would be easy, Noctis thinks, to die and not think of those who stood by him. To not think of those who have guided him down this path, who have been with him through strife and hope. It would be easy to only focus on the task at hand but Noctis thinks back, he thinks of his father, of his brothers, he thinks of Iris and Cindy, of Aranea and Luna. He thinks of Ravus and all the others who have helped him._

_He remembers Serah, a girl with pointed ears and a fanged smile grinning at him, helping him when he stumbled through his small journey in Eorzea. Noctis remembers how before he had left he had given her his magic, and how she had looked at him, her face serious, and told him that if he called her when he needed aid she would come._

_Noctis thinks of those who aided him, and wishes that he was not alone at the end._

* * *

Serah opens her eyes when the damnable burning in them doesn’t stop and wonders how she looks to them. Pitiful, she thinks, pitiful and hideous, an orphaned thing crying because no one wanted her. She has no right to a home, to a place to be warm and fed and loved. She doesn’t deserve it.

A part of her, a part that’s older and wiser whispers that she does, that she deserves love and happiness and that it’s her right, by the Six, hasn’t she suffered enough? Doesn’t she deserve a happy ending after all she’s been through? Serah tries to follow that train of thought, to cling to it and make it tell her what she had been before this life.

It takes her nowhere as it always does.

“We already told our children about you,” Clarus says, “We told them that if you were willing- if you were willing we’d be happy to welcome you.”

“You don’t mean that,” Serah tells them, “You don’t. They won’t want me.” Even still it sounds like she is trying to convince herself, trying to convince herself that she doesn’t deserve this, that no one wants her.

But I’m human aren’t I? Serah thinks all the same, I’m human and I deserve to be happy because of it.

“Why don’t you believe us?” Celia asks, her narrow eyes gentle and face open and welcoming. She looks like a mother, Serah thinks and then scolds herself. Of course Celia looks like a mother, she is one.

Is she a better one than Serah’s was? Serah doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know, but that’s a lie, she does want to know, she wants to be wanted for who she is despite the markings on her back. No one has ever wanted her for herself.

“Because it’s too good to be true,” Serah says, standing tall despite the breaking in her voice and tears in her eyes. She’s desperate and hungry and she wants to go back to her alley and beg for coin. She doesn’t want to stay here, in a house that is too good for her and yet just what she deserves. “Because no one would ever want me I’m-” She pauses and then barks out a short laugh. “I’m me.”

“Isn’t that enough?” Regis asks her, gentle as the first snow of winter, “Isn’t being you enough to want you to be happy?”

There is something in those words, in Regis’ tone of voice, in the knowledge that the King of her country thinks that even Serah, desolate and weak as she is, is deserving of love and care that makes her burst into tears.

She’s crying, ugly choked off noises escaping her as she wraps her arms around herself to try and force herself to keep it together. She can’t be weak. She can’t be weak in front of anyone. That's how people get killed but she feels safe here and that makes her want to run. Better the hell you know than the heaven you don’t and Serah is there, standing on display as she sobs in front of strangers that offered her a home.

It’s shameful, she thinks, and then there’s an arm around her shoulder, guiding her to the couch where she becomes sandwiched between husband and wife.

Serah is sobbing. She is on a couch in a home that is not her own because she does not have a home and she is crying. Ugly, heavy tears that drip messily down her face. She hides her face in her hands in an effort to stop the tears, in an effort to stop people from seeing her cry and yet-

There are arms around her, strong and solid and welcoming and Serah hasn’t felt an embrace like this in all her years.

“ ‘M sorry,” she chokes out, “Sorry.”

“There is no need to be sorry,” the man - Clarus, Clarus who wants her as a daughter, Clarus - says. His wife makes a noise of agreement and Serah feels selfish that she could have this, that it’s being offered to her and not others. She feels selfish and unworthy as her heart clenches at the thought of the others on the streets.

But oh, Serah wants this. She wants this more than anything. They know what she is, they have accepted her and she’s warm in both body and soul for the first time in the longest time.

Regis watches them, and when Serah gathers herself enough to look at him from the arms of those who want to be her parents he smiles at her, gentle and soft.

“I can stay?” Serah says through her tears, “You- I’m not- I’m not a good person. I’ve stole and lied and I’m envious and I wanted to steal your blankets-”

Celia laughs and pulls away to stand, taking the blanket that Serah had been eyeing off the chair and draping it across the crying girl's shoulders.

“It’s yours,” she says warmly before settling back into her spot by Serah’s side.

“Why?” Serah asks even as she clutches at the yellow fluffy throw around her shoulders.

“Because you’re a child,” Celia says, “Because you deserve better. Because you are human and you deserve better.”

A weak sob escapes Serah’s throat and she buries her face in her hands one more time before she looks back up. “I want to stay,” she tells them and Clarus’ arm tightens around her as he pulls her into a full hug.

“Welcome to the family,” he tells her and Serah sniffles and buries her face in his shoulder.

* * *

Gladio considers it lucky that both he and Iris were inside the Citadel with Noctis when their new sister came to them. Gladio doesn’t think that he’s overly protective of his sister but he is wary of what their new sister will be like.

 _She came from the streets,_ Clarus had told them, _she came from the streets and had lived a rough life, be kind to her._

I’ll be kind to her, Gladio thinks as he holds Iris’ hand as they walk through the front door of the Amicitia Manor, if she doesn’t hurt my Iris.

“Do you think she’ll like me?” Iris whispers to him as they take off their shoes. Iris had been quiet with nerves the whole way home, and Gladio couldn’t blame her. The two of them were walking into an unknown situation. Their parents had just adopted another child without telling either of them and that fact alone grated on Gladio’s nerves.

“She’d be stupid not to,” Gladio retorts, ruffling Iris’ hair just to hear her squawk before turning away from her and heading to the kitchen.

“Mom!” he calls out, “Dad! We’re back-” Whatever else Gladio is going to say dies in his throat. There, at their kitchen table sits their new sister; her red hair clean but dull, and laying flat against her head. The bags under her eyes deep and sickly looking and the freckles dotting her light brown skin seem out of place, as though they were supposed to be on a more lively person.

The girl looks at them, her lips pressed together as her blue eyes, still startlingly bright despite how she looks, dart over them as though she’s debating what to think of them. Eventually she smiles at him; it sits awkwardly on her face, as though she’s not used to smiling but is trying for them.

Street kid, Gladio remembers as he studies her frail frame and wonders when the last time she ate was. Street kid, Gladio thinks to himself as he’s hit with the full force of what that must mean. That their new sister must have been alone and starving and without hope.

A surge of protective instinct rushes over Gladio then and he offers his new sister a smile as well.

“Hey, Sis,” he says to her and the shock on her face makes something in his heart ache, “Whatcha doing?”

At that moment Iris walks through the entrance to the kitchen and pauses for a brief second to take in their new sister before she darts over to their sister’s side with a determined look on her face.

“Hey!” Iris chirps, “I’m Iris! You’re our new sister right?! Serah? Do you like dolls?”

The older girl startles a bit.

“Uh,” she says, “I- I don’t know? I never had a doll.” Gladio watches as Iris’ face transforms from determined to shock to right back to determined.

“That’s no good!” Iris says, “Up, up, come with me! I’m going to show you my room and you can pick out a doll to keep! I’ll even give you some dresses!”

“I don’t think that’s needed-” And Serah looks over to Gladio for help and Gladio can’t help but chuckle.

“Iris,” Gladio interrupts to Serah’s much needed relief, “Why don’t you go get Mom and Dad? It’s almost time for supper.”

Iris pouts but knows that Gladio is right.

“”Fine,” She says and looks up at Serah again, “But you’re coming to my room after and I’m going to give you a doll! You’re not getting out of this!”

“Aren’t I too old for dolls.”

Iris looks at her older sister seriously. “No one is ever too old for dolls.” With that, she spins on her heel and walks away to find their parents.

Serah blinks after her like a startled bird.

Gladio gives her a reassuring smile.

“Welcome to the family, Serah,” Gladio says to her, “We’re glad you’re here.”

Serah looks startled at his words, open conflict on her face as she debates how to answer him before she eventually replies.

“Thanks, Gladio,” She says, “I’m glad to be here.”


	2. king of light

There are rumors abound in the Citadel. Rumors that barely make it to the Prince’s ears but there is this one that catches Noctis’ attention regardless. The rumor that his godfather has taken in a child - a girl who lived on the streets- is intriguing enough that he almost has Ignis go digging for more.

But he doesn’t, because if Noctis hasn’t been told about the girl yet then that means his father and Clarus are planning a way to tell him themselves. And Ignis himself has probably already gathered whatever information there is to be had on the other girl and all Noctis needs to do is wait for the information to reach him.

He’s proven right when his computer is left open on a video on the girl someone posted to the internet. The girl is small, too small for her supposed age and yet her voice is strong enough that it strikes a cord within him. That it makes him want to meet her, to hear her sing in person.

To say Noctis is curious would be an understatement. Noctis knows that Clarus had adopted a kid Noctis’ own age. A girl that had been singing on the streets and begging for coin. Regis calls the girl delicate, calls the situation itself delicate and asks that Noctis be patient.

Being patient has never been one of Noctis’ strong suits. But he watches the video of the girl again, too skinny and exhausted but her voice ringing loud and clear even through the screen and Noctis thinks that he can wait to judge whether or not she’ll be a worthy sister to his Shield.

* * *

Gladio seems different after he comes back to join Noctis in training. He breaks the news to Noctis gently, as though Gladio is trying to judge whether or not he wants Serah to meet Noctis and Noctis can’t help but admire the fact that Gladio is already as protective of his new sister as he is over Iris.

“So?” Noctis asks when Gladio is done, “The only thing it changes is what you’ll probably want to spend more time with her. I don’t have a problem with that.”

“That’s not all it changes-” Gladio stops himself when he sees how unimpressed Noctis is with him.

“Isn’t it? You have a sister, that’s great news Gladio. I don’t see why it would have to change anything. I mean, sure, she’ll probably need training too but I don’t see why we couldn’t do that together or why you couldn’t take time off to tutor her.”

Gladio looks at him strangely and then laughs.

“You might make a decent king yet,” he teases Noctis.

Noctis rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says, “Pick up your sword.”

* * *

The waiting pays off, Noctis thinks, when Clarus offers to introduce Noctis to the girl. Serah, Clarus calls her. My daughter, Clarus had said with such fondness in his voice that Noctis had to compare it to when he hears Regis talk about him. Noctis can’t help but wonder who this girl is, what she’s like that she has nestled herself into Clarus’ heart so quickly. 

Noctis gets his answers at dinner that night, they meet in the Amicitia household and Noctis can’t help but be nervous as he enters; his father in step behind him and when the door closes it shuts with a click that reeks of finality. As though Noctis has crossed a threshold into territory that he didn’t even know existed. He fidgets with the edge of his sleeve peering around the house as though the girl he’s heard so much about will pop out at any second.

He’s oddly disappointed when he doesn’t see her.

Regis chuckles behind him and guides Noctis to the dining room they’ve been in dozens of times before. 

“Come,” Regis says, “Let’s not keep our hosts waiting.”

“Right.”

They walk into the dining room and Noctis pauses, his eyes zeroing in on the splash of red hair that adorns the brown-skinned girl with freckles dotting her face that sits at the table listening to Iris talk with an intent look on her face, as though everything Iris is saying is of utmost important to her.

That must be Serah, Noctis thinks as he takes in how different she looks from the video. There is no dirt caking her face, the bags under her eyes seem to have lessened enough that they are hardly visible and her eyes -brilliantly blue and clear as crystal - look at Iris with an unhidden fondness. 

Regis clears his throat, and the fondness in Serah’s eyes vanishes as she looks up too quickly.

“Your Majesty,” Serah says.

“Uncle Reggie!” Iris cheers and jumps up from her place at the table to rush over to the two royals, “Prince Noctis! You two made it!”

“Of course,” Noctis says, tearing his gaze away from Serah to smile at Iris, “Why wouldn’t we come?”

Iris pouts at him and Noctis suddenly understands why Gladio is always pinching her cheeks.

“You two are always so busy,” Iris says, “I wasn’t sure if you’d come! But you did.” Iris grabs Noctis’ hand and drags him over to where she was sitting and Serah still sits. Serah herself looks amused at the action, her lips quirking up into a smile as she watches her sister drag the prince toward her.

“Noctis!” Iris announces, “This is Serah Amicitia; she’s the best big sister ever!” Iris’ eyes sparkle as she talks about Serah. “Serah plays dolls with me and teaches me cool tricks that she says will help me beat Gladio in a fight-” Iris stops as though she has said something she shouldn’t have and Noctis watches as Serah just looks amused.

“It’s no trouble,” Serah says, “You would need to learn how to fight sooner or later.” Looking at Regis she adds, “I’m not teaching her anything dangerous, just how to throw a punch and dodge.”

Regis looks somewhere between disturbed and amused. “Does Clarus know?”

“I do.” Clarus enters the room looking like he’s already used to the shenanigans his daughters cause. “It’s earlier than I would have taught Iris but I suppose it can’t be helped at this point.” Noctis watches as Regis and Clarus exchange a look that says they’ll be having a discussion in private later and Noctis can’t help but roll his eyes.

Looking back to Serah, he notices the girl watching him the way Ignis does when he’s found something interesting.

“I’m Noctis,” he offers a hand for her to shake and despite the hesitation she takes his hand and her grip is strong.

“Serah,” she says, a wry smile gracing her lips, “But you already knew that.”

* * *

Dinner is-

Uneventful. There is chatter and cheer and people converse together as though everything is normal. Noctis feels as though some of this is for Serah’s benefit. Serah who picks at her food as though she still can’t believe she has access to something as simple as a warm meal.

From his place beside her, Noctis watches her eye chili with suspicion and nudges her with his elbow.

“Try dipping bread in it,” he whispers to her, aware of Gladio eying him, “It’s good, promise.” Gladio snorts, all too aware that Noctis hasn’t touched anything with vegetables in it since forever but Serah, who does not yet know this about Noctis, simply gives him a confused look before doing as he said.

Noctis watches her face light up at such a simple combination and decides right then that he’s going to be her friend.

* * *

“So,” Regis says on the ride home, “What do you think?”

Noctis looks at his father and knows that he’s speaking about Serah.

What does Noctis think? Noctis thinks that she’s unsure, that she doesn’t know where she stands now that she’s been adopted, that she’s on edge because of something that Noctis can’t identify. Noctis thinks that she’s lonely and hasn’t quite found her footing now that she has a stable home.

Mostly, Noctis thinks that he would like to be her friend.

“I want to be her friend,” Noctis says to his father, “She seems lonely.”

* * *

It doesn’t happen directly after, rather, Clarus seems to wait a few days before he and Gladio appear for what Gladio calls Noctis’ mandated ‘ass-kicking’ session. Serah lags behind them, eyes wide but cold as they dart over everything. It’s a move Noctis has seen on his bodyguards, on the Glaive and Guards that take turns guarding him, whenever they enter a new room. Serah is looking for the quickest way to escape should anything go wrong, Noctis realizes and something protective blooms in him at that. Serah is one of his people, a sister to his Shield she should never have to do such a thing. But Noctis knows that life isn’t so simple, and that such a skill like that Serah is displaying will be useful in the future.

Noctis realizes they’ve all made her a target and it feels like a punch to the gut.

“Serah,” he calls out still, keeping his voice bright and ignoring Gladio. The red-head looks over to him, recognition and fondness lighting her eyes for a second before it’s hidden once again.

“Prince Noctis,” Serah greets as her body goes to bow automatically before she seems to realize that there isn’t a need to. Clarus and Gladio probably told her not to worry about it unless they were in a formal setting, Noctis thinks, amused. And they are right, Noctis is determined to make Serah his friend, and his friends never need to bow to him unless societal expectations dictate they do so.

“What are you doing here?” Noctis can’t help the curiosity from leaping into his voice as he glances at Gladio and Clarus.

Serah shrugs and Clarus answers. “We’ve decided that she should learn how to wield a weapon.” Something like a scowl runs across Serah’s face at that.

“I know how to fight,” she insists, “I don’t need to be here.”

Gladio snorts.

“We’ll be the judge of that, Sis,” he says and gestures to a rack full of wooden weapons, “Go pick one out.”

“No live steel?” Serah tilts her head to the side as she asks the question.

“Not until we know your skill,” Clarus says firmly and Serah looks put off by not being allowed a weapon made of metal.

“Fine,” she says and heads toward the weapon rack as though she already knows exactly which one she wants to try out. She winds up picking up two daggers, not unlike the ones the Glaive use and Noctis can tell immediately that she’s holding them correctly even if Serah herself looks less than pleased with the choice.

He looks questioningly at Gladio who only shrugs.

“They’re not balanced properly,” Serah tells them as she tosses one into the air and catches it by the hilt. “But I can make it work.”

“Is that so?” Clarus raises an eyebrow. “Then you won’t have a problem testing them against Noctis?”

“Not if he doesn’t.”

Noctis blinks as the attention is focused on him and he shrugs helplessly. “I’m ready to go,” he says.

Serah nods, and takes a stance that is all together unfamiliar to Noctis, a glance at the others tell him he’s not the only one who doesn’t know the stance that Serah has taken. Still, he shrugs and readies his own wooden weapon.

Clarus says start and Serah moves. She’s on Noctis faster than Noctis can think and it’s only instinct instilled in him by years of training that allows him to raise his sword to block Serah’s strike. A dagger bearing down on him with such force that he forgets for a moment that there are supposed to be two of them until he feels the other press lighting against his ribs.

Noctis’ eyes widen, and he breaks off to back away. Serah comes after him again, moving with a grace he has only seen in trained adult fighters and she comes after him again.

And again.

And each time she could have struck a killing blow if she wanted too. Each time they clash Noctis knows that in a real fight he would be hopelessly outmatched and dead. There is a grace in the way Serah fights yes, but there are no wasted moves. Serah does not spend any time making her attacks beautiful or enchanting to look at. She merely acts in a way that allows her to dispatch her enemy in the quickest way possible.

Noctis would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed, and yet by the time Clarus calls out for them to stop Serah is more winded than he is.

“Are you alright?” Noctis asks, kneeling next to Serah who looks up at him.

“I’m fine,” she says, “I’m just not used to doing that in this body.”

Noctis is about to question what she means by this body when Clarus walks over to them and hands them both a bottle of water.

“You shouldn’t over do it,” Clarus tells his daughter who looks at him and shrugs. “You’re still recovering.”

Serah blinks. “Oh,” she says, “Yeah, I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Noctis asks incredulously. Serah shrugs, as though it doesn’t matter.

“You’ve seen how I can fight,” Serah says to Clarus, “Is there anything else I need to do?”

Clarus raises an eyebrow at his child and frowns. “Yes,” he says, “You’ll be joining Gladio and Noctis in their training sessions. However, you will be only performing light exercise to build up your muscle mass and stamina.”

Serah scowls but nods.

Noctis can’t help but chuckle. “Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” he says.

“Yeah,” Serah says, “Guess so.”

* * *

Serah knows she can fight. Knows that whoever she had been before has left those skills with her and that now she knows her way around a pair of blades the same way she knows her way around Insomnia’s underbelly. Serah knows she can fight, but she hadn’t given thought to how much it would take out of her. Especially given how she had been living up until three months ago. It shouldn’t have been surprising, that she had to retrain her body to allow her to fight as she did but it was annoying feeling like she should be able to do that without a problem.

She’s determined to get her old strength back no matter what. But today she’s distracted as she once against fights against Noctis. Thoughts of her introduction to high society plague her and Serah finds herself nervous and distrustful of the event coming up. A party thrown for her, to introduce her to the rabble of nobles that have been clamoring for new information about the mysterious girl that the House of Shields has taken in. Serah has already decided that she hates politics but if this makes it easier on her new family then she’ll do it.

Lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t notice that she has the tip of her blade at Noctis’ throat.

“Serah?” Noctis asks, and Serah blinks rapidly at him. Offering and apologetic smile, she removes the wooden tip from his throat and Noctis looks at her curiously.

“Is something the matter?”

Serah grimaces and understanding lights up in Noctis’ eyes.

“You’re nervous about the party,” Noctis reasons.

“Not nervous,” Serah corrects, “…Annoyed.”

Noctis grins. “At what?”

“Going.”

“Not a party person?”

“I’ve…never been to one,” Serah admits and it doesn’t ring true. Her past life had been too many, and perhaps that is where this distaste comes from.

“Well,” Noctis says, awkward and well-intentioned, “Gladio and Iris and I will be there, and you’ll be meeting Ignis, he’s pretty cool. You won’t be alone at least?”

Serah considers him.

“Yeah,” she says, “Guess I won’t be.”

* * *

Serah decides, after the tenth noble questions her on her choice of dress and where she's come from, that she hates politics of all kinds. Still, she can play this part well enough, she can be polite no matter how much she hates being in this position. Serah can be a decent enough person that they'll blame all her shortcomings on the fact that she's come from the streets and attribute all her grace to the family that has taken her in.

She hates that, but she loves the Amicitia's so she'll let it slide. Still, here gaze dances around the room, looking for Noctis who had said she wouldn't be alone and yet her siblings had been pulled off by some other noble family and Serah has yet to meet this Ignis fellow.

"Serah," Noctis says from behind her and she spins around, relief a naked emotion on her face and Noctis smiles a bit nervously at her, "Sorry I'm late."

"It's about time you got here," she retorts, crossing her gloves arms over her chest. Her dress is green and gold, something that Celia said would compliment her coloring nicely, it's sleeves are short, but the elbow long gloves Serah wears makes up for that.

Noctis quirks a brow. "I said you wouldn't be alone didn't I?" Then he grins at her. "Let's go find Ignis, I know he's dying to meet you."

"Alright," Serah says and takes Noctis' offered hand. "Let's go find him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember how i said this would update weekly because i had it finished? hah! that was before my health problems got worse! so now it's going to update whenever I feel like it!  
> anyway not much happened here other than relationship building but uh. i'm going to be upping the chapter count by one because y'all are getting more relationship building next chapter and then a plot thing happens  
> anyway please leave a comment! love you guys.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so, i was editing this, and there's like 10k more to edit (moose finishing a fic before posting? SHOCKING!!) but i was lazy and wanted to share now so uh. here. have the first 5k or so of it. this will be updated one a week for the next two weeks as i strap on the editing gloves and maim the rest of it.
> 
> as always! feedback is appreciated!


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